Break and Enter
by Sky Blue Angel
Summary: They break and enter on HIS orders, HIS words. They even learn what HE doesn’t really need to know. Chase/Cameron, Foreman/Cameron, Chase/Foreman, semi-implied House/Wilson


TITLE: Break and Enter

TITLE: Break and Enter  
AUTHOR: Danielle  
PAIRING: Chase/Cameron, Foreman/Cameron, Chase/Foreman, semi-implied House/Wilson  
RATING: R for sexual situations  
WARNINGS: Het, angst, rejection, sex, fluff (sort of?)  
SUMMARY: They break and enter on HIS orders, HIS words. Together, they learn what HE doesn't really need to know.  
DISCLAIMER: The characters? NOT MINE. Not mine at all! Or there would be tie fetish everywhere and lots of duckling threesomes (That's what I'll write next!)  
NOTES: I have no actual idea where this story came from! I was thinking about random pairings, watching Disc 1 Side A for the… 12th time? It just kind of popped into my head.

Everything had been so natural, he'd thought. They worked together, almost breathed together. Sat in that glass-walled room and answered e-mail for the man that hired them to take up space. Chase had learned something everyday they sat there, filling out crosswords and talking about cases they didn't have. Foreman would tap out a staccato beat on the table and answer his questions before he even voiced them. And Cameron's typing drowned out the tap of fingernail on glass if anything interesting came up.

And House would sweep in, Wilson trailing like a detached cape. No smiles, all business and snark and a harsh word for every idea that wasn't the one HE wanted to fall off their lips, worship in understanding. And then a wave of HIS hand and they were off. Little duckling, all in a row.

Chase and Cameron to the house, to look for something that would solve the case. They'd look and talk and wonder what House would know that they didn't. Every food item, every object, the perfume the mother wore and the ties the husband had tied to the bedposts. Cameron would smile, talking quietly the whole time. And when Chase pressed her to the wall, kissing and moaning, she just smiled.

The condoms were older than the ties indicated, almost melted into the tiny tinfoil packages. But Chase knew how to improvise, rubbing and she moaned, sounds coming from the back of her throat as she pressed back. And he exploded when she lowered he voice, whispering harsh words against his neck.

--

HE makes comments about past criminal records and perky breast, sneering about the drug habits HE knows they don't have. And sends them off with a wave and a smile that never reaches HIS eyes. They go to find something new and know they'll come back with the old. Nothing ever turns out the way they think it will, even when all they find is the culprit for something completely unrelated. They talk loudly the whole time, no longer nervous about being caught. Everyone at the hospital knows they do this, knows where they go ask they grab coats and chose a car to take. No one even gives them a second glance, the gossip over.

Foreman has the key, for some reason Cameron can't figure out. Once they're in, nothing's too unusual. Everywhere has to be checked. Nothing seems too interesting. A middle-class home with nothing more unusual than a six-pack of opened beer under the bed. And they talk the whole time, about nothing at all and certainly not Chase. The patient's doing worse, they try to wonder why.

HE calls them, smirking into the phone and asking for information they couldn't know. Foreman growls, Cameron hides a smile behind her hand and the phone clicks shut, leaving silence echoing. Their eyes meet and roll in unison, heading to the kitchen. White tile, white wallpaper, white cabinets, the kitchen of an angel. Foreman rolls his eyes again. Cameron sighs, whispering about the American Dream and smiling at the tiny creak of a new floor.

And Foreman looks at her, hand coming up to touch her cheek. Their kiss is gentle, soft and practicing. Exploring with touch, eyes closed too tightly to see anything but the darkness. She looks at him first, laughing and trying to talk before he kisses her again, pressing against her and pinning her to the cabinet. Another laugh and he hikes her skirt up.

They're finishing when HE calls again, bodies pressed together and voice barely audible. But HE demands their attention and they break apart, her hand going to his phone. The patient's worse, it can't be from the home, they're needed back. And HE's sneering when he asks why she answered Foreman's phone. But it isn't too bad and there's no explanation needed. There's time left, her body grinding against his. And when she misses in guttural tones he's done and they tidy up with white paper towels and white dishwasher soap.

--

Cameron's gone now. She quit, leaving two ducklings and HIM. They're alone, watching as they try to diagnose something HE can't figure out. And they know what they have to do, staring at each other and wondering what they'll not-find in the end. Foreman doesn't have a chance to find the key and Chase never thinks of that. So they stand in front of the apartment building, trying to remember which room number they needed. Chase hushes his voice, Foreman doesn't even try. The wind is cold and they have to wonder why winter came so soon.

The apartment's up three floors and down a hall that smells like beer and blood and death and fear. Everything's dark, covered in shadows and broken down. Chase sneers at the unlocked door and moldy knob. Foreman just pushes it open, rolling his eyes at the rich boy. They smirk at each other, trying to see behind the masks that come up at the sight of wet floors and a bum on a rotting couch. Anything could have caused the problems and Chase wonders, quietly, if they should just take the apartment in for lab tests.

Foreman just snorts and shoves the Australian into the bedroom. It's a friendly shove, barely touching the leather jacket. But they freeze, eyes on the ground and breathe synchronized. Cameron's gone, there's no more hope of her. And the house is filthy, too dirty to find whatever's causing her seizures, her fears, her death. Their eyes meet when Chase looks up, mouth dry and eyes wide.

The kiss is needy and knowing, a press of lips that know what Cameron did. They taste her on the other man, taste themselves from her and know why she did what she did. Chase moans, Foreman makes a sound that neither one can classify. The bum is staring with wide and drunken eyes as they grind together. It doesn't matter as Foreman slides a hand up Chase's shirt, Australian accent echoing through the filth.

A scream cuts their concentration, someone of the floor below crying out in the ecstasy they can almost find. Girlish and high, their eyes meet through closed lids and Cameron is underneath Chase's hands, moaning and pressing against him. Cameron writhers under Foreman's ministrations, hot and eager as they kiss. It's sticky in the room, the sharp scent of sex drowning out the stench of dying.

The next week, Cameron's back. She smiles at them, all sunshine and rainbows. They smile back, quiet secrets shared. But they don't go with her again. HE always sends them together, leaving her to save the patient. And nothing could be more right, as she laughs and hands HIM a cup of coffee, watching Wilson's eyes flash, knowing she'll always lose.


End file.
